in my life, everything is solid
i have strong evidence for my toaster
and in a lawsuit, i'm sure that
i could prove the existence
of my socks
there's just one problem: you
you're my only receptary
i looked that up in the dictionaire...
adj. - something accepted as fact
but unproven
hmm. i think i know what the fuss
about the big bang is now
we have red shift, measurements, microwaves
but there's always the possibility
we got it wrong
but of course you're real. right?
you are, aren't you? because
every time i wake up, i have to
check you're still there, i have to
pinch myself
of course i don't let you see that
but maybe you're just too good
to be true, too unreal to be real
or maybe i'm making a fuss
over nothing
but even that has a double meaning, and
you are a double meaning. your
freckles may prove your existence, but
maybe i just have an excellent
imagination
you annoy me so much, with your
silence that doesn't help to make you
three dimensional. and sometimes
i can't help wondering if maybe
you're only paperthin
i can't decide if you're real
or is it me who is unreal?
is what you are to me real
is what i am to you real?
do you know?
and now i'm spending my days
pretending you're there. maybe
you really are; it doesn't matter.
you once said things aren't always
what they seem
you say you'll never leave me, and i believe you
but when we have coffee with friends
they give you the oddest looks. i can never
bring myself to ask them if i'm really
going mad
because the point is, i don't mind
i think i'd give up my sanity, if it meant
i could keep you forever. i said you might be
nothing, but without you, all of life would be
nothing
say maybe you're not real. say
you're a dream, a hallucination, a trick
i don't think i care. i think i can live
without proof, because i can't stand the thought
of losing you
